


the road to victory is(n't) paved with disordered eating

by ScrambledScreams



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Swearing, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9643202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrambledScreams/pseuds/ScrambledScreams
Summary: He's not alone in this, not by a long mile. There's been more than one occasion where Chris is with him, keeping his long silver hair from falling into the water and vomit and they both know howfucked upthis is but everyone does it, so no one stops them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I learned today that 85% of figure skaters have disordered eating problems. Therefore, this story was born.
> 
>  
> 
> Unbeta'd

There were things that the public didn't know about figure skating.

 

Viktor thinks it's almost better that way. 

 

The public doesn't know the smell of the locker rooms and bathrooms before performances-- Vomit tinges the air, and no one speaks about it but they all know. 

 

Viktor knows.

 

Know the desperation that comes with it when he's knelt over a toilet, fingers jammed far down the back of his throat as he retches and tries to make non-existent food reappear up and out of his system _one last time_ before he's out on the ice, skating his heart out. He needs-- they _all_ need to be light, lighter than air to gain height and float and dance effortlessly across the ice, to please their fans.

 

He's not alone in this, not by a long mile. There's been more than one occasion where Chris is with him, keeping his long silver hair from falling into the water and vomit and they both know how _fucked up_ this is but everyone does it, so no one stops them.

 

There are ones that do, and ones that don't. But the ones that do always overwhelm the numbers of those who don't spend their waking moments perched over a toilet bowl.

 

There was a scare, one time-- a female skater collapsed mid-routine.

 

Malnourishment, the crowds murmured. Eating disorders, the tabloids whispered, and Viktor heard from some of the other skaters that the coaches of all the female skaters were instructed to encourage a healthy diet among their students and for a while they do, but no one listens. 

 

He wakes up one morning, and he can't get out of bed.

 

The blankets piled on top of his body are heavy and suffocating (he was just so _cold_ , even his multiple sweaters and layered sweatpants weren't warming him up), and his breathing picks up in his weak chest, huffing and heaving and barely lifting the blankets.

 

Fear wraps around his lungs like cold fingers, squeezing and pressing the air out of his lungs. Fingers scrabbled desperately for his phone, and he sends out a desperate text to Chris while black spots play on the edge of his vision and his stomach pinches together in hunger.

 

"This is fucked up." He whispers, lips parched and mouth dry. When Chris came he had worked himself into a panic attack, hint fingers grasping at the sheets with no strength and lungs barely able to suck enough oxygen in to feed his gasping breaths. The younger skater spent half an hour calming Viktor down, and they sit on the balcony of his hotel room, staring at the orange skyline. "We're fucked up."

 

Chris laughs humourlessly, hands wrapped around a cup of steaming coffee. He doesn't speak, and Viktor doesn't either. Who needs to speak, when your friendship is so deep you've been there for each other whilst vomiting up anything you've eaten that day, whilst starving yourself on caffeine and nicotine, lips chapped and bones frail?

 

When Viktor is seated at the hotel restaurant, he stares at the food on the table and thinks. 

 

Slim fingers reach out across the table, and after a moment of indecisiveness he snags a mini pancake off of Mila's plate, sinking his teeth into the fluffy texture. It's sweet, but not overwhelmingly so, and he ignores how each swallowed bite sinks like a weight in his stomach, ignores how his stomach rumbles after having been empty for so long. Mila doesn't say anything, just pushes her plate closer to  
him so he isn't leaning across the table to reach it and when Georgi notices, looking between the two of them, he too sits a little closer to Viktor and allows him access to his plate.

 

He feels just a little like a child when they take turns feeding him bite by bite, but he pushes that aside and accepts it, pulling away slightly and shaking his head when the weight in his stomach is borderline uncomfortable.

 

It's the first full meal he's eaten willingly in over two months. 

 

It's not an instant, magical fix. 

 

Disordered eating isn't fixed in a day. His stamina is still weak, and the performances he used to fly through with ease take time now to complete. His body had started to rely upon his muscle mass for nourishment while he starved himself, and that's going to take time to build up.

 

When he finishes his program in its entirety, without breaks for water or out of pure exhaustion Chris, Mila and Georgi are all there, cheering loudly for him. His muscles ache and his chest is heaving with exertion but the smile on his face could split his cheeks in half, as he bends over and rests his hands on his bent knees. 

 

He still finds himself counting calories in every meal, but with Mila's help he finds an app that tracks the calories you eat with the food you log in, setting it so both he and Yakov have access to it. 

 

"At your activity level, that's 3000 calories a day Vitya." His coach says sternly, and old habits creep in at the back of his mind, nausea making his stomach clench. 

 

It's by no means an easy choice. He still finds himself shying away from foods that are heavy in fats or sugar, and even proteins at time. The first time he slips up and spends an evening hunched over the toilet, forcing his body to get rid of everything he just ate he's shaking and terrified, unwilling to admit that he screwed up. Yakov finds him sobbing over the porcelain bowl, and instead of getting angry like Viktor thought he would he just sighs heavily, resting a gentle hand on his shaking shoulder.

 

"We all make mistakes and slip up, Vitya. This isn't something you can easily control, so don't beat yourself up over it. Treat it like you do a fall during competition-- You don't lie there and give up, you push on and keep going, keep skating."

 

He could give up. He could quit eating and let his body wither away until he was a husk, weighing less than a feather and barely touching the ice as he skated across

 

Or he could fight, force himself to eat and not waste away. Let his form fill out with muscle and healthy fats, strengthening his jumps and sending him higher into the air.

 

The sudden thought that maybe, somewhere out there there's some child watching his performances and wanting to be _just like  
Viktor Nikiforov_, stick thin and starving themselves to do so hits him and sickens him.

 

"I want to live." He says hoarsely, mouth bitter and tasting of bile. He can't see Yakov's face but he knows his coach is proud, kneeling beside him on the floor of the hotel bathroom with the putrid smell of vomit filling the air.

 

His road to victory is not paved with disordered eating.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts my peeps


End file.
